


I thought I'd lost you

by travellinghopefully



Series: Whouffaldi Fanfiction Countdown [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:27:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4692053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just that!</p><p>Really, don't wander off.</p><p>Nice and short and fluffy - much like Clara.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	I thought I'd lost you

**Author's Note:**

> For the whouffaldi fanfiction countdown thingy - week 3
> 
> I have a story for week 2, but I'm stuck.....

Don’t wander off.

How hard could that be to understand? Truly? 

It wasn’t that she’d been here before. They weren’t even on Earth. 

Whenever anyone on Earth was especially pompous or officious he remembered they hadn’t had the imagination to give their own planet a better name than dirt. He smiled, and then he frowned.

Where was she?

Small, roundish, ridiculously large, soft, deep brown eyes, not an alien – well she was. What did he mean? Not an indigenous species, that was it. 

Everyone else was mostly purple and furry and tall, Clara wasn’t those things, no, no, she definitely wasn’t purple, probably and definitely not tall, he was unsure about the furry. No really, she should be easy to pick out, but no, she had wandered off. 

She had tugged at his sleeve, urging him to hurry up and come and see something. He had been reading a particularly fascinating inscription on a piece of fallen masonry – he was certain it had only been moments and he looked up and she had gone.

He wasn’t alarmed, well, not exactly. Everything here was harmless, definitely, well almost certainly. No, not alarmed, discomfited – yes, that word seemed appropriate. He had anecdotes to share, things to show her and she was not there.

Which direction had she pointed in? He sniffed the air, there was a trace of her perfume, but not quite enough to follow. He used his sonic to analyse the unique molecular signature of the fragrance. He could use that to track her, that was clever, that was effective, nothing, at all, to worry about. Yes, he was eminently pleased with his own cleverness.

He walked briskly. Really, if she could just stand still for a few minutes it wouldn’t be a problem, she really was the most impulsive human he could think of. Ah, well, maybe no, but she was the one travelling with him right now. 

The Doctor found himself standing in front of a fruit stall in the market – none of the fruits were Clara. However, the “unique” signature of her perfume exactly matched a small orange tuberous root. He picked one up and inhaled deeply (he didn’t remotely think about the sunlight on Clara’s hair) and the stall holder slapped his hand. Then he noticed the sign, “Look, Don’t touch.” 

Not quite as good as “Go away humans”, but, catchy. Although he had always considered signs to be a suggestion, rather than a rule, at least when applied to himself.  
He flashed the psychic paper, hoping it said something helpful, along the lines of “Produce Inspector.”

.............................................

 

It was tediously inconvenient to be incarcerated.

He rifled through his pockets, jelly babies – excellent. Chalk – superlative.

He lowered himself to his hands and knees on the floor of the rather small cell and began to work on an exceptionally interesting formula.

Pleased with his solution he reclined on the bed and re-read War and Peace, tutting at intervals and making corrections in the margins.

Clara arrived at the bars of his cell.

“What is it you keep telling me about not wandering off? I thought I’d lost you!”

A very over-bearing, self-important and needlessly bureaucratic guard unlocked the door.

Clara raced forward, grabbed him, lifted him off the ground and proceeded to spin him round – her arms wrapped round him.

It wasn’t, on reflection, entirely unpleasant.


End file.
